


Drunk Confession

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confession, Drunk John, Explicit Sexual Content, Hangover, Love, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunk John has loose lips -- will they sink the ship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Confession

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John had had too much to drink. He knew that when he was stumbling over to the bar, laughing too loudly. But he ordered another drink because they were celebrating -- it was a bachelor party, after all. There was a whole group of them out tonight, and all of them were as drunk, if not more so, than John. He found that funny and he giggled again. What a fun night. He usually didn't like drinking like this because of Harry, but once in a while couldn't hurt. He knew he wouldn't again for a long time. 

As the night came to a close, they all stumbled into the street and hailed taxis. John gave the driver his address and laughed softly. He didn't know why. When the cab pulled up the man had to shout -- John had fallen asleep. He stumbled out and made his way to the door. He took out his key and tried the lock. And he tried. What seemed like ten minutes later he still couldn't get the key in, so he just started knocking. 

Sherlock had been standing by the window when John's taxi pulled up. He'd had a productive evening working on an experiment when he got a text from John. It had said:

_mmnywyox_

On any other evening, this might have alarmed Sherlock. It might have alarmed him enough that he'd have immediately set to work trying to decipher the code or at the very least called him to ensure he was all right. He hadn't done that tonight, though. Because he knew that John was out on a stag do and very likely very drunk. So he tidied his things away and began watching at the window.

He watched John stumble from the taxi and even though he knew he'd have to go downstairs to help, he'd decided to watch him fumble with the key for a few minutes before heading down. He opened the door and caught John, who had been leaning on it. "And what can I do for you?" he asked, after righting John and steadying him against the door frame.

John grinned as he was caught before falling over. "I need to get to . . ." He paused and tried to look up at who had him. Hmm. ". . . to bed," he finished.

"Interesting opening line," Sherlock said. He didn't particularly like seeing John like this -- John who always was in such control of himself. On the other hand, though, it was sometimes a bit funny. "And I suppose you need some help getting upstairs since you were incapable of actually opening a door?" he asked.

John laughed again. "The key wouldn't go in . . . in the . . . thing," he said, trying to point at the lock. "But we have to be quiet," he said, putting his finger to his lips. "We'll wake Sherlock."

"Right," Sherlock said, trying to hook his arm under one of John's. "We wouldn't want to do that, would we?"

"It'll be our secret," John said. "Like my other secret," he added, whispering.

"All right then," Sherlock said, trying not to get annoyed at the fact that John kept wiggling out of his grasp. Then he thought for a moment. "And what other secret is that . . . the one we're keeping from Sherlock?" he asked. He wondered if he should regret asking -- after all, he was kind of taking advantage of John's inebriated state. He wanted to know the secret, though, so he didn't take back the question.

John giggled and buried into his shoulder for a second. "No! You'll tell him."

"I wouldn't tell him -- I hate that man, he's a right bastard," Sherlock said, smiling a little to himself.

John shoved him. "He's not! I'll fight you," he warned as he stumbled a bit without the support. 

"All right, all right," Sherlock said, now just out and out laughing. "Fine, you can fight me later. Um, about this secret . . ." 

"You won't tell?" John asked, leaning properly on him now.

"Come on, let's get into the flat," Sherlock said, trying to get him up the stairs as quickly as possible. "No, I won't tell him or anyone. You can tell me whatever secret you want, and it'll be safe with me."

John took a deep breath and let it out loudly. "I'm in love with him," John said.

"Who?" Sherlock asked, pushing the door open with his foot. "Who's this you're in love with?"

"Sherlock! Aren't you listening?" John asked, moving into the flat.

"You're in love with Sherlock?" Sherlock asked, dropping John onto the sofa. He made a move to go get tea, but then noticed John sliding off the seat. He pulled him up again and then rushed into the kitchen. "Sherlock Holmes or are we talking about another Sherlock?" 

"Holmes. My flatmate," he said. Then he looked around suddenly and closed his eyes when his head spun. "He's . . . he's amazing," John sighed. "But he doesn't like things like that."

"Things like what?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't quite sure precisely what John was talking about. "He does like amazing things so maybe he'll like this -- what is it exactly you're talking about?" He brought two cups of tea over.

"He . . . he's so smart and clever and . . ." John paused and smiled fondly. "And so very handsome." He sighed again and reached for the mug, missing it and knocking it over. "Oops," he said giggling, toppling back to relax against the couch. He closed his eyes. He felt so sleepy.

"John!" Sherlock called, reaching to try to catch the mug. He got up quickly and wiped away the spilled tea. He didn't bother refilling John's mug. He looked over at John, who was smiling stupidly on the sofa. "Are you making fun of me or something? Since when do you find Sherlock Holmes so appealing?" 

John jerked awake at the shout and looked around. "What?" he asked.

"Who is it again you're in love with? What'd you say her name was?" Sherlock asked. 

John sighed, the huff of air very annoyed. "Don't you listen?" he scolded. "Sherlock. Holmes."

Sherlock looked over at him, trying to see if he could read what was actually going on here. "And you love him? Like, love love? And you don't want him to know?"

"He can't know because he'll get angry and kick me out," John said. He lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. He was drifting to sleep. "He doesn't like stuff."

"What stuff? Love?" Sherlock asked. Did John not know that Sherlock loved him? Of course, Sherlock loved him. Everyone knew that. 

Unless John was talking about a different kind of love . . . "Are you saying you want to kiss Sherlock?" Sherlock asked, completely convinced the answer would be no -- he was a man and John had made it quite clear that he wasn't interested in men.

John was drifting off. "Hmm?" he asked, shifting to get comfortable on the sofa.

"I know Sherlock quite well," Sherlock said. "I think you should tell him your secret. If you can't do it, I can do it. Do you want me to tell him?"

"No!" John said, sitting up so fast that he groaned and clutched his head. "No. He'll be angry," he said. "I want to go to sleep. Don't tell. Please?"

"All right, John," Sherlock said calmly. "I won't tell him, I promise." He stood up and reached out for John's hand. "Come on, let me help you get ready for bed and then you can go to sleep."

"We didn't wake him, did we?" John asked, keeping his eyes closed.

"No," Sherlock said. "I'm sure he's slept through all of this." He pulled John into the bathroom. "Use the toilet and then wash your face and brush your teeth, okay? I'm going to get you some water. You all right on your own?"

John nodded, fumbling with the button on his trousers. He didn't even care that the door was still open. He wondered who this nice man was, maybe one of the guys that had come out with them tonight. He was a nice man.

Many, many things were going through Sherlock's mind, but he let them fly around his head for now -- he could think more carefully as soon as he got John to sleep. He set the glass of water on the table and moved towards the bathroom. "Everything going okay in there? Ready for bed?" he asked, not stepping in yet.

"Yeah," John said, stepping out of the bathroom. He was a bit steadier on his feet now, but he was so very sleepy. "I don't want Sherlock to be angry at me. I don't want him to kick me out . . . I love him," he mumbled as they walked.

"So you said," Sherlock said, grabbing the glass of water and then moving closer to stay next to him in case he needed help. "Let's go upstairs . . . everything will be fine in the morning, I promise."

John nodded, climbing up the steps slowly and moving into his room. He started taking his clothes off, climbing into bed with just his pants on and a heavy sigh. "Get home safe," he said softly. 

"I'll do my best," Sherlock said. "You go to sleep now, yeah?"

John was already snoring softly, tugging the covers up as he shifted to get more comfortable. 

Sherlock moved to the bathroom and got some paracetamol, grabbing an orange as he passed through the kitchen. He set both of them on John's nightstand next to the glass of water. He stood for a moment, looking at John sleep. This had been a very unexpected close to his evening.


	2. The Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Click the link for a little surprise.)

John slept deeply and soundly all night. When he finally did wake up, he was sure he'd been run down by a train. His whole body hurt -- his head the most. He groaned and shifted, trying to bring back memories from the night before. Someone had brought him home, but he didn't remember how or who. He closed his eyes and pressed them with his hands, but it wasn't working. He couldn't remember anything. When he sat up and saw the water, he sent a silent thank you to whoever had left it. He chugged down half of it, lying down again and trying to get his head together.

When Sherlock woke up, he stretched and got up to go to the bathroom. Then he went into the kitchen and began making tea, boiling enough water in case John was getting up soon. He'd let him sleep as long as he needed to.

After another hour John felt like he was okay enough to stand. He wobbled for a moment, but he steadied his feet and put on his dressing gown before making his way to the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, he has a flash of doing this last night. He felt like he'd been watched. Had the door been open? Who had been with him? He took a quick shower and then made his way to the kitchen. "Morning," he said, pouring himself a mug of tea.

"Morning," Sherlock said. He moved over to his desk. "Feeling all right?" he asked.

"No," John admitted. "But that's my own fault, I know." He sank into his chair with a small sigh and sipped at his tea.

"Did you have fun at least?" Sherlock asked, glancing over at him, wondering what he remembered.

"Yeah," John smiled lightly. "What parts I remember were fun, anyway."

"Well, then I suppose it was worth it," Sherlock said. It seemed like John might have no memory of the whole secret business -- was that a good or bad thing? Or was he pretending not to remember? "And did you meet any 'lady friends' while you were out or was it just all drunk bachelors?" he asked.

"We danced with a few girls but nothing serious." John took another sip of his tea. "Someone brought me home, I think, but I can't remember."

"A woman?" Sherlock asked. Perhaps that would explain John's romantic leanings last night. Maybe he thought he'd be getting lucky and then just got a bit confused by things.

"I don't think so. It must have been one of the guys. No one stayed here or anything."

"No romance at all last night, then?" Sherlock asked. He still wasn't quite clear on what had motivated John.

"Nope," John said. "Why are you asking so many odd questions? Did something happen when I came home? I hope I didn't wake you -- I was trying to be quiet."

"I'm just trying to have a chat with my friend," Sherlock said, mock offended. "Excuse me for asking about your evening. I noticed you didn't ask about mine, but I decided not to mention that for fear of being rude, but now I see politeness is no longer a feature of this flat." He turned in his chair dramatically.

"Oh, calm down," John said. "How was your night, then?"

"Mostly productive and then a bit boring," Sherlock said. "I had quite a bit of time to think actually. You know, you go out quite a bit but when I'm not with you, I'm on my own. Do you think that's worrying at all?"

"I invite you to almost everything I go to with a group," John pointed out. "If you like being at home more than out, that's not wrong."

"I like being out, but I don't like being with groups, John, you know that," Sherlock said. "I just like being with you," he added quietly, shifting his eyes, without turning his head, to try to gauge John's reaction.

John flushed lightly as he looked down at his tea. "But we go out all the time," he said.

"But not like last night," Sherlock said. "There's never been dancing when we go out together."  
  
"I -- well, we could go if you really want to."

"I'm not going to bully you into it," Sherlock said. "Obviously you don't associate those kind of things with me . . . that's all right, I suppose. I'm sure I don't give off that kind of vibe."

"You're not bullying me. I just didn't think you liked crowds like that," John said.

"I don't like crowds," Sherlock said. John didn't seem to be taking the bait. "Forget it," he added. "What are your plans for the day? Will you mainly just be focusing on your hangover or what?"

"I'm not feeling up for much else. I just want to relax and make sure I don't get sick everywhere. I want to try and remember something from the end of the night. I don't like the blur." Maybe he would text his friend to find out how they all got home and try to work out who'd brought him home.

"Black spots in the memory aren't good, John," Sherlock said sternly. "You're a doctor, you should know that. Should I take you in for some kind of scan? Did you destroy part of your brain last night? That really wasn't very good planning, now was it?"

"Calm down! It's not that bad. I don't do it all the time."

"I'm teasing you, you idiot," Sherlock said. "You know, this 'party boy' persona of yours has totally lost his sense of humour." He stood up and moved to the kitchen. "Need more tea? Or an orange?"

"No thank you," he said. He close his eyes and tried to think.

"I'm trying to look after you, John, you know, trying to be kinder like you're always telling me to be," Sherlock said, smiling. "You should be rewarding my behaviour, not dismissing it."  
  
John opened his eyes. "I don't think offering me an orange makes up for the poison experiments."

"You hold too many grudges," Sherlock said. "Fine. What should I do then? What do you want?" He glanced at him and then looked away.

"You don't have to do anything, Sherlock. Just relax," he said. "We will have an easy day."

"I know I don't _have_ to," Sherlock mumbled. "I _wanted_ to." He brought his tea over and sat beside from John. "Telly?" he asked.

"Yeah, okay, let's keep the volume down a bit," he said.

"Baby," Sherlock said under his breath. He grabbed the remote, flipped through the channels and settled on what looked why of those stupid action films John appeared to enjoy. He turned the volume down a little. "Okay?" he asked.

John nodded. "Thank you." He put his empty mug on the coffee table. "You didn't hear anything last night? I feel like I was being loud even though I was trying to be quiet."

"I don't think you were loud," Sherlock said. "If you needed something, you know I would've helped," he added, wondering if John would read between the lines.

"Yeah, but whoever brought me in did well enough. I wish I knew who it was."

Sherlock stayed quiet for a moment. Then he said, "That's a bit dangerous, John, don't you think . . . if you honestly can't remember who brought you in, it could have been anyone."

"I'm going to text my friend. I'm sure it was just one of the guys," he said. He closed his eyes again. "I think I just had some trouble with the key."

"Do you trust this friend?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, enough to allow him to come into the flat and put you to bed?"

John shrugged. "Don't know who he was. But I suppose so. Nothing was taken and no one was hurt," John said. 

"And do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," John said, looking over at him. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "As you say, no one was hurt so what does it matter really? Someone looked after you and that's what's important."

John gave him a strange look before nodding and looking back at the telly. He was never going to drink that much again. 

Sherlock sat quietly, trying for thirty seconds to get involved in the film before giving up completely. He continued to stare at the television, though. As he did though he slowly began to take up a bit more of the sofa, stretching his arm out over the back of the sofa and then shifting to lift his legs up onto the cushions. When the film ended, he turned to John and asked, "What now then? Do you want to go to lie down?"

"No. I'm kind of hungry, honestly. I think it's okay to eat something. I'm going to make some lunch," he said. "Or dinner. What time is it?"

"It's just gone four," Sherlock said. "Do you want me to make something? That'd be a kind thing I could do for you."

"What can you make?" John asked, pausing at the kitchen and turning to face him. He was smiling over at him, waiting.

"Whatever you want, I suppose," Sherlock said. "Your well-being is something I care about, you know -- it's not like I'd get angry and kick you out simply for wanting something from me." He let that hang in the air for a moment. "Chinese? Would you like some Chinese?"

John felt something in the silence before Sherlock's suggestion. Those words were familiar, but he couldn't remember from where. He'd thought them once, a long time ago when he realised his feelings -- but no, that couldn't be it. That was his secret. Maybe last night he had told his friend he'd be kicked out if he'd woken Sherlock up. Yes. That must have been it. "So by make something you mean order me something?" he teased, coming back to the conversation.

"Obviously," Sherlock smiled. "It doesn't matter, does it? It's still a kindness -- looking after you when you feel poorly is still an act of love even if it means paying delivery man, you know." He stood up from the sofa and retrieved his phone. "Your usual?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. You know what I like," John said, moving to the sofa again. Sherlock was acting very odd today, but as he was being nice, John didn't question it. He wondered how long it was going to last and decided to ride it out.

Sherlock placed the order and moved to the kitchen to set out plates. He put the kettle on and then brought two mugs of tea over. "Another film?" he asked as he sat down.

"Yeah," John nodded. "I know you picked that last one for me so I'll pick something you'll like now."

"This'll be good, "Sherlock said, smiling. Then he stood up again, going downstairs to retrieve the food. He scooped it onto plates and brought those over to the sofa. "What'd you pick then?" he asked.

"I really don't know what you'll like," John said. "You pick."

"Fine," Sherlock said. He went to the film channel and scanned through the titles. "Here, this," he said, clicking on the film [_**Maurice**_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApoI1r4FNHE). "This is something I'll like," he added.

John blinked at the title and nodded slowly. "Okay. I thought you'd go more documentary than love story," he said.

"Why?"

"I don't know. The romance stuff . . . I thought that wasn't really your thing."

"Interesting," Sherlock said, staring at the screen. "You mean because I don't go out chasing it every night like you do?"

"No, because you said it yourself," John said.

"Did I?" Sherlock said. "Well, then I guess you must be right because people never change their minds about things, do they?" He kept his head forward still, watching as the two men on the screen kissed.

John shifted a bit uncomfortably. People changed their minds all the time. Like he himself had when he realised he was developing feelings for his male flatmate. John glanced at him nervously as if Sherlock could read his mind. "I didn't realise you had changed your mind, that's all."

"I apologise then," Sherlock said. "From now on I will make sure to let you know every time I change my mind about something." He leaned forward and took a sip of tea. "And you'll do the same, I assume?"

John licked his lips lightly and focused on sipping his tea. "Yeah, of course," he murmured.

"Good, I'm glad we've got that sorted," Sherlock said. They finished watching the film in silence. When it was over, Sherlock glanced over at John. "Good film, yeah?" He stood up and carried the plates into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I liked it," he said. He got up and went into the kitchen. "I can help, I'm not useless," he said.

"Fine," Sherlock said, stepping away from the sink. "Feel free to wash up then. I was thinking I might take a bath. Can you look after yourself for a half hour or so?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock." John offered him a smile and swatted him away to wash the dishes.

Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom, starting the bath before nipping to get some pajamas. "Um, if you fancy going to bed, feel free to but if you don't mind, could you not invite some stranger in here to tuck you in?" he asked with a wide smile.

John grinned and flicked him off before getting back to the dishes.

Sherlock shut himself into the bathroom and took off his clothes. He slowly sunk into the hot water, leaning back and closing his eyes. He thought about his feelings for John. Obviously he loved him -- if even Sherlock Holmes could recognise that, surely John did. But John's little confession didn't seem to be about that kind of love. John had said 'in love'. That was different. Sherlock swirled his hands through the water, resting them on his thighs, softly rubbing the muscles before slowly moving one up his body to his chest. Did he want John to touch him like that? Did he love John like that? He lifted his hands out of the water and rubbed his palms over his face. This was confusing. Of course he did -- he'd thought of kissing John whenever Maurice kissed Alec and now he was thinking of John touching his body. But _why_ was he thinking this -- only because of John's confession last night? Or had Sherlock always wanted that? And what was he supposed to do about any of this? If it turned out that what John said last night was only drunken ramblings, everything would be ruined. He ducked his head under the water and kept it there until he had to come back up and gasp for breath. He stood up, got dressed, and opened the bathroom door.

John had made a fresh pot of tea and was sitting watching the news. "Had a nice bath?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "You still feel sick or are you normal now?" he asked, sitting down on his chair.

"I feel okay. I don't know," he admitted. "I just wish I could remember more of the night. No one's answered my texts."

"I was thinking," Sherlock said. "Maybe . . . last night didn't happen at all. That's why you have no memory and no one has responded because literally last night didn't happen." He glanced over and smiled. "Either that, or you were abducted by aliens. Those are the only two possibilities I could come up with."

"It definitely happened," John said. "I keep remembering odd things. Someone helped me up the stairs -- I think I swung at them. Or maybe I was falling." He squeezed his eyes shut. "And someone definitely helped me to the bathroom."

"Was that person grey with a huge head and large black eyes?"

John grabbed the pillow and threw it at Sherlock. "It was not aliens!"

"Well, if it's so damn important, think carefully," Sherlock said. "Was it a man or a woman? Don't try to guess -- just close your eyes and remember."

"I can't. I tried that," he said. "I don't know. Maybe it doesn't matter."

"Did you give this person money? Did they do something to you, John?" Sherlock turned and looked deadly serious. "Did they . . . touch you in your very private area?" He laughed a little to himself.

"I hate you. I am going to bed and not talking to you anymore," John said dramatically.  He stood up and put his mug in the sink before heading for the stairs.

"Already?" Sherlock said. "You're such a baby and a very frustrating drunk."

"I'm not still drunk, Sherlock."

"Well, first of all, your mood is the result of last night's drunkenness, and secondly . . . just forget it," Sherlock said.

John raised his brows and waited for the rest. When it didn't come, he shrugged and went upstairs. He would feel better in the morning.


	3. The Sleepover

Sherlock watched as John left and then he stood up and followed John up to his room. 

John looked over when Sherlock came in, having just put on his pajamas. "What is it?"

"I thought we were off to bed," Sherlock asked, plopping down onto the mattress.

"Right but . . . you don't sleep here," John said slowly. 

"Well, I didn't used to," Sherlock said. "But I do now."

John's brows furrowed. "Since when? What are you talking about?"

"Look," Sherlock said. "About last night . . ."

John's stomach turned. "What about last night?"

"Do you really not remember?" Sherlock asked.

"Just -- just tell me what happened right now," he said. 

Sherlock rolled so he was no longer facing John. "This is embarrassing . . ." he said. "John . . . we had sex and you don't remember anything at all."

John almost fell over. He blinked several times and then squeezed his eyes shut. He shook his head. "No . . . no we didn't," he said. "I woke up alone and dressed. No," he said. 

"It was quick and . . . standing up by the door," Sherlock said. "And you said I could stay, I swear you did, but I was afraid this would happen, afraid you would forget, so I went downstairs before you woke up."

John kept shaking his head. What had he said? What had they done? No! He couldn't have done that and not remembered. He pressed his temples. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked softly. He was having trouble breathing. 

"John Hamish Watson," Sherlock said. "You are an idiot."

John flinched. "I think you should go," he said. "I need . . . I'm sorry. I don't know . . . I don't remember what I did or . . . or said . . . but I'm sorry."

"We didn't have sex last night, John," Sherlock said. "But before you start shouting at me, can I ask one question?"

"Sherlock! Why would you tell me that? What are you doing?" John asked. He didn't know what he was feeling now. Had he spoken to Sherlock at all last night?

"As I said -- _before _you start shouting -- I just have the one question," Sherlock said. "When I'd said we had sex, you said we didn't and your reason was the fact you were still wearing clothes. I find that a bit curious. I thought you might say 'No, we didn't, Sherlock, because I'm not gay.' You remember that phrase, right? You've said it a thousand times. Yet you didn't say it a moment ago. Could you explain that? Once you do, you can shout."__

John blinked at him. "I . . . I don't know what you mean," he said stupidly. 

"I think you do," Sherlock said gently. He took a deep breath. "Are you in love with me, John?" 

John flushed darkly. Flashes came back to him, telling some stranger that he was in love with Sherlock. Had Sherlock overheard? It wouldn't be impossible, he doubted he was being as quiet as he'd meant to be. "What did you hear? Who was I talking to?" John asked instead. 

"You're talking to me now and you've had nothing to drink," Sherlock said. "Don't drunkenly tell someone you think is a stranger. Tell me."

 _You think is a stranger_. John knew what that must mean. It must have been Sherlock the whole time. He squeezed his eyes shut again but he couldn't bring up the memory. "I don't want to ruin our friendship," he mumbled, opening his eyes slowly.

"I'm so sorry, John," Sherlock said, rolling over to face him.

John swallowed hard. "I was telling you, wasn't I?" he asked softly. 

"Yes."

"But why are you apologising?"

"Because I made you feel afraid to tell me the truth," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry."

John climbed into the bed slowly. "Sherlock . . . I know I was drunk and I wish I hadn't told you like that -- fuck, I wish I remember telling you," he said, rubbing his forehead. "But I noticed a long time ago and I was worried I'd ruin everything if I said anything. I am sober now, and I am telling you. I love you. I'm in love with you."

"John," Sherlock said softly. He put a hand on John's arm. "Okay."

John glanced at his hand and then looked down again, wringing his fingers. "Let's . . . look, we can forget about it. I mean . . . nothing has to change and I won't say it again and . . . and we'll be normal."

"Stop, John," Sherlock said. He rubbed his arm softly. "Stop -- don't say you won't say it." He shifted just a little bit closer. "Say it once more. Please."

John flushed and raised his eyes to Sherlock's. "I love you, Sherlock," he said softly. 

"I love you too, John," Sherlock said. He made a little smile. "Last night I asked you a question you never answered. I don't suppose you remember what it was."

John shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said softly. 

"I asked if you wanted to kiss Sherlock," Sherlock said. "But you didn't give me an answer."

John took a shaky breath and nodded. "Yeah, I really do."

Sherlock slid his hand up to John's cheek. He leaned forward and kissed John on the mouth. There was no mistaking what this kiss meant. His hand moved to the back of John's head as his slid his tongue to find John's. John moaned softly as he leaned into the kiss. Sherlock pressed against him, moving on top of him. He kept kissing him, moving his mouth to John's ear and then down to his neck. The he lifted his face to John's, meeting his eyes. At the same time, he began to roll his hips, slowly at first and then more urgently.

John rolled his hips up, gripping his hips to get more friction. "Sherlock," he moaned softly. "God I've thought about this so much . . ."

Sherlock kissed him even more hungrily. He slid a hand down John's side, sliding it between his body and the bed. He gripped his arse, lifting it off the bed as Sherlock crashed against him.

John called out softly, pulling at Sherlock's clothes desperately. "Please . . . Sherlock, please," he moaned. 

Sherlock pushed at his pajama bottoms and then grabbed John's hand. "Touch me," he said urgently. "Please…"

John pushed his hand past the fabric and found Sherlock's cock, gripping and stroking as he sought Sherlock's mouth again. 

"God, John," Sherlock moaned as he reached into John's pajamas, wrapping his hand around John's cock, which was hard and hot against his skin.

"I want you," John moaned. "I want more."

Sherlock slid to John's side and pulled John's pajama bottoms off and then took off his own. He reached over to stroke him again and he sucked hard on John's neck. John shifted to get on top of him, kissing his mouth hard. He rolled down again, panting softly. Sherlock pressed up against the mattress, meeting John's movements. He separated his legs and wrapped one around John's legs, their bodies now rocking the bed. "Please, John…" he mumbled.

John leaned over and opened his bedside drawer to get the lube and a condom. When he came back between Sherlock's legs, he took a moment to gaze at Sherlock, running his hands along his thighs and hips. 

Sherlock reached a hand down to hold himself as he watched John looking at him. He lifted his hips, just rocking them a little in anticipation.

John pushed his legs and licked his lips, opening the lube and pouring a bit on Sherlock. "Have you done this before?" he asked, rubbing with his fingers while he waited for an answer. 

"A long time ago . . ." Sherlock mumbled. He kept moving his hips, waiting for that first touch there, that first feeling of John moving inside. "Have you?"

"You'll be my first, in a way," John admitted. He pushed his finger slowly into Sherlock, moving it in and out gently. He had come close once, a long time ago in the army when things had been uncertain, when they had been scared. 

Sherlock smiled softly down at John. "I love you," he exhaled. "You know what to do."

John nodded, pushing in a second finger now. He moved them together, in and out, while spreading them to open Sherlock. His own cock was starting to leak. 

Sherlock tried to relax his body, but the urge kept growing. "God, it feels good . . ." 

John leaned down to press kisses over his stomach and hips. He was so gorgeous. John tried not to think about what would have happened if he hadn't said anything. With one last kiss he pulled his fingers out, rolled on a condom, and pressed against the entrance. He leaned over Sherlock and kissed his mouth. "You feel so good," he murmured before pushing into him.

"Go slow," Sherlock whispered. "John, yes…"

John nodded. He kissed Sherlock's mouth again as he pressed into him, nipping at his lip as he sank in deeper. As Sherlock adjusted to the feeling, his body became overwhelmed with pleasure. He lost his fingers in John's hair and he kissed him hard and hungrily as his body rocked against John's movements. John returned the kiss with equal hunger, rolling his hips slow and steady into Sherlock. The tight heat around him was driving him crazy with need. "God, Sherlock . . ." he moaned.

Sherlock reached down between their bodies and began stroking himself. "I . . . it's good," he mumbled. He let his head fall back on the pillow. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of being filled by John.

John dipped his head and kissed Sherlock's exposed neck, biting and licking his skin. His hips moved faster as it became even easier. Small sounds of pleasure escaped with each movement -- he was getting close. 

"Please, John," Sherlock said and suddenly his cock was jerking in his hand, covering their bellies with wetness. "God," he called, mumbling John's name over and over.

"Oh god," John gasped, watching Sherlock and memorising every little sound, every inch of his pleasure-filled face. And then he was pushing deep and coming into Sherlock, gripping the bed sheet around his shoulders as he did. 

Sherlock felt closer to John than he'd ever felt to another person. He wrapped his arms around John's back, pulling him down against him. "John," he said as if that one word said everything.

John stayed close to him, panting into his neck as he caught his breath. Slowly he moved and shifted, pulling out of Sherlock and tossing out the condom before lying beside him, still curled close. "I love you," he murmured. 

"I wish you would have just told me," Sherlock whispered. "But I also wish I hadn't made you feel you couldn't."

John sighed softly. "I just thought if I told you and you didn't feel the same way, it would be hard to keep living here and the last thing I wanted was to lose you," he said. "I'm to blame as well. I never hinted I had changed my mind from the things I said that first night either."

"Well . . . you know, these things aren't my areas of expertise," Sherlock said. "I suppose it's worked out as it should." He rubbed John's back. "But don't get drunk like that. You were a bit frustrating and I'm not sure I can handle any more of your confessions." He smiled against John's head.

John flushed and buried into his shoulder for a moment. "What did I say? God, I'm so stupid . . ."

"You went on about how I'm the most handsome man you know and how you wish I would spread my work out more around the flat and how you really love doing my laundry for me," Sherlock said, pinching his side lightly.

"I was drunk, not brain damaged," John laughed softly. 

"Whatever," Sherlock said. "You signed the sheet of my demands . . . it was all legal."

"Did I say anything I should be apologising for?"

"Well, you were a bit critical about my hair, but overall it was all quite sweet," Sherlock said, lifting a hand to twiddle John's hair.

"I like your hair," John said. His own fingers were drawing on Sherlock's chest, small circles and letters from their names. 

"This is a big change, John," Sherlock said softly. "In some ways. In other ways things probably won't be all that different." He looked at his face. "Should we maybe cover a few ground rules?"

"Ground rules," John said carefully. "Okay, yeah."

"Don't look at me longingly when we're on a case, okay?" Sherlock said. "I mean, I understand the urge, but try to maintain a professional stance in public."

"I don't think I've ever not looked at you lovingly on a case so if I stopped now, people might get suspicious," John smiled. 

"Well, just keep to your normal stares then -- no added adoration," Sherlock said. "And I was wondering if perhaps you could stop going on dates quite so much?" he added quietly.

John's brows furrowed a bit. "Of course I'm going to stop dating, Sherlock. I'm with you now. You're the only one I'm going to take on dates."

Sherlock tried not to let his relief show. "And no lovehearts in texts, please," he said. "Those were my three concerns. Do you have any ground rules?"

"Um . . . I disagree with the last one. I think you need more lovehearts in texts," John grinned.

"Outrageous," Sherlock said. "Think, though. I'll probably not be very good at all this."

"Well, you're smart so I'm not worried. You'll be fine," he smiled. 

"I'll do my best," Sherlock said. He looked at John. "I will, John. I will try my best, but I can't guarantee I'll be exactly what you want."

"You're already what I want," John said. "You have been for a long time now."

Sherlock smiled. "Did you like the sex business?" he asked.

John nodded. "It was fantastic," he smiled. "Did you?"

"I did," Sherlock said. "I was worried I'd forgotten how to do everything, but I think I did all right."

"You did better than all right," he smiled, kissing Sherlock's lips softly. He grinned. He could do that now whenever he wanted. He did it again just because. 

"Do you think it's something you'd be interesting in doing again?"

"Yes, for sure," John nodded. 

"Well, then it appears all our paperwork is taken care of," Sherlock said, using a silly mock official voice. "Let's get up and go downstairs for a cup of tea."

"Okay. But you have to make it because I did a lot of work here," John teased. 

Sherlock sat himself up. "Fine, even though I'm the one who's going to be wobbling around for the next few days," he said. He reached for his pajamas and put them on, bending carefully.

John slapped his arse lightly and laughed. "I'll make the tea," he said, putting Sherlock's dressing gown on and walking past him with a smug smile. He was so happy.

Sherlock followed him downstairs. He sat down in his chair and watched John in the kitchen. "You know, you're quite handsome. I've thought this for a while but I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to get all weird," he said.

John looked over at him and smiled. "I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't talk to me either," he said. He brought the mugs and some biscuits out and sat in his own chair. 

"Well, giving compliments doesn't come easily for me anyway," Sherlock said. "How about you just remember that I've said and the next time I annoy you call up the memory and everything will be all right."

John grinned. "Okay, sure. Just . . . keep reminding me sometimes."

"I'll pencil it into my calendar," Sherlock smiled. He took a sip of tea. "So we're a couple now and we live together. That's quite a big change from what we were yesterday. I mean, on paper at least."

"Yeah, but it's okay, right?" he smiled softly. 

"Of course, it is," Sherlock said. "I mean, we have been pretty much been a couple since you moved in. The shagging's really the only new part and obviously we've obviously ace in that department." He smiled cheekily and threw a bit of biscuit over at John.

"Yes, well, more practice wouldn't hurt," John smiled. He ate the biscuit.

"Pervert," Sherlock said. He finished his tea. "Hey, John," he added. "Thanks for being a frustrating drunk."

John grinned. "Thanks for taking care of me," he said. 

"I always will," Sherlock said. He got up and put a kiss on his forehead.

John smiled. "I love you, Sherlock."


End file.
